The Wishmonger
by XblackcatwidowX
Summary: Shouto has three problems of varying urgency. There is a new villain in town who never gets his own hands dirty but is still a pain in the arse. Shouto may or may not be attracted to said pain in the arse. The pain in the arse is his lost friend, Midoriya. Gathering a team of specialists, it is a race against the clock to uncover the truth behind Midoriya's missing person case.


**PART ONE: THE ALUMNI**

 **This is my first fic in this fandom, so please be kind. :3 Also, I'm beta-less, so any mistakes are my own.**

* * *

The sky is smiling on the day of Inko Midoriya's funeral.

That is only one of the many factors leading to the subsequent downfall of her son.

"I'm sorry, Deku," whispers Uraraka, wrapping her arms around Izuku's shoulders and squeezing gently. She, his oldest and most darling friend, is treating him like something as fragile as a glass petal. As fragile as a ticking time bomb.

Izuku accepts her arms but does not return the embrace, his eyes tracing the words on the tombstone.

 _Beloved mother and friend. In fond remembrance._

Nothing that Izuku feels is fond. There is only a tidal wave of bitter regret and despair, surging up in his chest, hammering at his ribcage. The string, drifting upwards, seeking. The string tethered to his heart, whose sole purpose is to lead the way home.

"Where is home?" he murmurs aloud. Uraraka's eyes dances upwards to meet his. But it isn't she who responds.

"Home is where the heart is," says Todoroki, standing by his side. Flanked by the rest of the long-ago Class 1-A. Izuku turns to him, only slightly startled by his words. Todoroki blinks, as if he is equally surprised, but finishes either way. Reaching out, he points at Izuku's chest. "Home is right there."

Izuku bites his lower lip hard to keep it from trembling, turning away again to hide the tears in his eyes.

Uraraka relinquishes her grip on him, stepping away. "We'll leave you," she says with a meaningful look at her old classmates.

Another murmured wave of condolences, bouncing off deaf ears. The shuffling of feet as they move awkwardly away. Izuku senses the presence of two people, lingering if only for a moment.

From his peripherals, he can see Bakugo wrinkling up his nose, preparing to let loose a torrent of insults, but then his face relaxes again, he lets out a little noise of disgust and stomps away. It is all the sympathy Izuku will get from him.

Todoroki is a different matter. Their time at U.A. High School brought them close to the point that there is no need for verbal communication between them. Perhaps that it what years of warding off self-righteous villains, impending death and probing journalists (in that order) results in.

Now, a hesitant hand brushes Izuku's shoulder. _You need anything?_

Izuku dips his chin lower. _No._

Todoroki draws his hand back and retreats, accepting the rejection easily. This is a part of him that Izuku has always been thankful for. Shouto Todoroki is a stolid man. He does not take things personally.

The whisper of footsteps on grass fades away. At last, Izuku is alone. He lowers himself to his knees, dirtying his black slacks on the ground. He bows his head, hands clasped before him, and when he closes his eyes, their story flashes before his eyes.

A quirkless boy with an absent father, a loving mother. A world which did not believe in his dream. And yet, somehow, _impossibly_ , a kind soul granted him a flittering possibility, a chance. Toshinori Yagi, a hero on a time limit. A time limit which has already passed them by.

He will sleep forever in this cold ground, gone to some place far from here.

But the absence of All Might does not lead to the absence of his enemies.

Barely a week ago, an attack had been launched on Izuku's front door. Shigaraki must have known that on the eve of the first anniversary after Yagi's death, defences would be low in the Midoriya household. Combined with that and preparing to leave his mother for a new home, Izuku had been completely caught off guard when villains razed the entire apartment block to the ground. It was pathetic, really. All ten villains were caught at the end of the ordeal, but not before the damage was done. Eight minor and major injuries – and one casualty.

Even if it had been ten villains against one budding pro hero, Izuku knows that he should have done so much more, and the price for this lesson is a high one indeed.

"Mum." Izuku chokes on the word. "I can't– I'm so _sorry_ …"

When was the last time he told her 'thank you'? When was the last time he had uttered the words 'I love you'?

Sucking in a deep breath, Izuku allows the tears to flow down his cheeks, salty tracks of glittering memories. This had been preventable. If only.

He tilts his head up to the glaring blue sky. The sun is warm against his skin, but an icy wind tears a jagged hole through him, splitting him in two.

 _I wish_ , his heart whispers. _I wish. I wish I never became a hero._

A fleeting idea, an image. A world in which Inko Midoriya is still alive.

The cemetery stands still for a moment in time, the sun slinks behind a cloud. The birds in the trees hold their breath for a single stroke of the second hand on the clock, the bumblebees pause in their buzzing, the stray cat on the fence straightens up in acknowledgement of some sentient being that no one else can see.

He could never have anticipated that this would be the day that everything changes.

* * *

"He'll be fine, won't he?" asks Uraraka anxiously, clinging onto Asui's arm absently.

"Of course he'll be fine," snarls back Bakugo, his hands jammed deep into his pockets as he stomps along behind the group. "It's shitty Deku we're talking about here. The most optimistic idiot I know."

"His _mother_ just died," hisses Uraraka, baring her fangs at him. "Show some decency for once, Bakugo!"

Shouto anticipates a less-than-respectable fight at the entranceway of the cemetery, but Iida bodily puts himself between the two before it can happen. Once class rep, always class rep.

"This is an inappropriate place to raise your voices," he barks, chopping at the air with a stiff arm. "As adults, you should know better!"

" _You're_ the one raising your voice," pipes up Kaminari.

"Yeah. Calm down, Iida."

Iida reddens but falls silent. He has accomplished his objective, anyway. Bakugo and Uraraka have been subdued, albeit she continues to throw filthy glances in Bakugo's direction occasionally.

Shouto will not say that he is friends with Bakugo, nor even good acquaintances. Neither of them ever overcame their differences whilst at U.A., and as fresh graduates the distance between them will only grow greater.

Not that Shouto minds. Bakugo's company does little for him except exhaust him. The loud, fiery personality does nothing but clash with his own. But he has obtained a greater understanding of Bakugo than Uraraka, at least. To most people, Bakugo's words must seem insensitive, but Shouto can hear beyond that. In his own brusque way, this is the only way that Bakugo knows how to show that he at least somewhat cares about Midoriya.

It isn't to say that Shouto approves of the other's short-circuited behaviour. Midoriya deserves better than that.

 _Midoriya_ … he must want to be left in silence right now, yet Shouto feels a deep desire to check in on him again, ensure that he hasn't vanished off the face of the earth. After all, this subdued Midoriya is something Shouto is unaccustomed to. So subdued to the point that he may even be volatile.

How is one meant to behave around one grieving – or more importantly, a grieving friend? This subject was never covered in any of his father's lessons.

Trailing along at Yaoyorozu's side, a little further off from the rest of the alumni of Class 1-A, she seems to sense Shouto's inner turmoil. She turns her head slightly, smiling at him softly. "You should go back," she says, reading him like an open book. "This can't be easy for Midoriya, and I think you're the closest friend he has now."

Shouto hesitates, and she tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. "I'll even wait here for you, if you want."

It's all the encouragement that he needs. Wordlessly, Shouto turns and strides back the way they had come. Midoriya is not the only one he bonded with at U.A. Yaoyorozu is the second-best thing which happened to him. But never before has he been anybody's 'closest friend', and now that he is (if Yaoyorozu is correct and she normally is), it is a task that he takes seriously.

He'll walk right up to Midoriya again, screw up his courage and pull him into his arms–

No. Too much. Shouto pauses in his tracks, immediately falling into the deep burrow of self-doubt.

Perhaps he should settle for the much-trusted handshake. But isn't that too formal? Isn't a hug too informal? Yet they've been on informal terms for at least two years now. Or have they been? Is it only Shouto who views the relationship as such? Has Yaoyorozu only been seeing things from his own perspective? Friendship, _trust, is_ a two-way street, could it be that he has been walking a one-way street all these years…?

The sharp slap of flesh on flesh echoes through the graveyard. Shouto presses both palms against his cheeks, hard, drawing himself back to the present moment. Once he starts thinking like this, he has already lost.

 _Pull it together, Shouto_. He releases his face, two hand shapes burning on his cheeks, and rounds the corner that he will find Midoriya and his mother's grave at.

Barely half a second later, he ducks back behind the corner, crouching into an inconspicuous position before peeking around again.

He can't see either of their faces, both their backs are turned to him. Midoriya is speaking to a woman, tall and slender with long brown hair. She is dressed in a black trench coat, a birdcage veil hat on her head. A family friend, perhaps? From where he crouches, Shouto cannot hear the words that they are exchanging, but he knows they are not for his ears.

With a glance which lingers on Midoriya's back, his misleadingly small stature and unruly mop of curls, Shouto shakes his head and jogs off to meet Yaoyorozu again.

There are many days ahead during which he and Midoriya can talk.

* * *

Midoriya fails to meet with his new landlord the following day and does not return Shouto's phone call.

At first Shouto thinks nothing of it. It's understandable that Midoriya may want to go off the grid for the day, as much as he wishes that his friend would confide in him.

Over his lunch break, Uraraka calls and says that Midoriya has not responded to any of her messages, nor Iida's, Kirishima's, Asui's, Yaoyorozu's or Tokoyami's.

By dinnertime, Uraraka has brought their old home-room teacher, Aizawa, and several other pro heroes into the case.

 _But distancing oneself is a natural response in the process of mourning_ , Shouto justifies. _Midoriya will come back to us when he's ready_.

It isn't justification. It's denial.

Izuku Midoriya is declared missing a total of forty-three hours after the funeral.

* * *

Shouto throws his all into the search for Midoriya, alongside the police taskforce, his old classmates, Aizawa, Principal Nezu, Best Jeanist, Kamui Woods, Edgeshot and so many others. Even his father deigns to dip into the search for a short frame of time.

When it is All Might's successor who is missing, it garners much attention. Soon, there are reporters tailing them around twenty-four-seven, weaving tragic tales of murder and woe as they speculate what fate may have befallen Deku, the next symbol of peace.

Shouto reports that the last person he saw Midoriya with was a nameless woman at the funeral, dressed all in black, but nobody else in attendance recalls seeing her there at any time. This is a lead which takes them directly to a dead end.

Shouto rakes through the city of Musutafu. He blazes through the U.A. campus grounds, Midoriya's fallen apartment block, the gyms and sports grounds, the library, the underground sewerage system. He proceeds further beyond the walls of the city than anyone else, but he finds not a single breadcrumb to lead to a trail, not a single speck.

 _Where are you, Midoriya_? Shouto would ask at the end of each long night spent working overtime, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. _Why did you leave me?_

No one else has better luck than him, and as days drag into weeks, the search effort slackens. Not for Shouto. What kind of person would he be if he isn't willing to go as far as the edge of the world to find the one who once saved him?

Finally, after several months of searching under rocks and within twinkling streams, the police update the status of the case. Midoriya is presumed dead.

The news reporters, journalists and gossipers have a field day, covering the life and times of Izuku Midoriya, the tragic young hero.

"Dead or gone AWOL?" asks the news anchor, her face a pixilated blur through Shouto's eyes. Either he is exhausted or he has drunk too much. Perhaps a mixture of both – it seems feasible enough. "Only time will tell whether the case of the missing hero Deku will ever be solved. If you know anything about Deku's possible whereabouts, please contact your local police on–"

Shouto fumbles with the remote, switches the TV off. It blinks out, his small apartment silent as a grave again. He lifts the glass bottle to his lips again, only to find that it's empty.

 _Again_.

Muttering, Shouto slams it down on the table and runs a hand through his hair. It's a work night, he shouldn't be drinking lest he receive a call to go rescue a pet cat from a tree or whatnot, but he feels so damn useless. Midoriya was the best in their class, a front runner to place in the top ten pro heroes, only a year out of school. He could take care of himself, so whatever had happened to him, Shouto can't fathom.

 _Not was_ , he corrects himself. _Is_. _Midoriya_ is _the best in our old class._

Across the room, his phone begins buzzing persistently.

Shouto staggers to his feet, stumbles to his phone and answers without bothering to check who it is.

"Shouto Todoroki speaking," he says.

"It's Yaoyorozu," says Yaoyorozu, heavy concern in her voice. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," lies Shouto, pressing his back to the wall and sliding down it. He goes to rest his forehead on his knees but moves too quickly, cracking his temple against his kneecap. "Fuck!"

That's definitely going to bruise.

"Excuse me?" Yaoyorozu sounds scandalised.

"I said 'fruit cake'." Shouto speedily moves on. "Is there something you need? Cat up a tree or anything?"

"What."

Exasperated, Shouto throws his hands in the air and almost flings his phone away with the movement. "This is Shouto, your friendly local hero speaking. I'm not an arse-hat like Endeavour so of course I'll help with menial tasks like helping an old lady cross the street or rescuing a cat from a tree. Minors wanting ciggies or alcohol, too? Shouto's the man for you. I'm not serious about the last one. Please, Momo, don't report me."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line. Then–

"You're drunk," says Yaoyorozu bluntly.

"I am not, that is a dire accusation."

Shouto can hear shuffling and the clinking of what he presumes are car keys.

"I'm coming over. You're in your apartment, yeah?"

"I don't need you to baby me," Shouto sighs, rapping his knuckles on the ground absent-mindedly. "I can handle myself. I don't need anyone. I've done this for fifteen years in the past."

"And look where that got you." She clicks her tongue, a door slamming shut behind her. "When's the last time you ate, Shouto?"

"I think I ate some crackers this morning."

There's another drawn out silence before Yaoyorozu lets out a sigh. "Wherever Midoriya is right now, he'd want you to look after yourself. I know that you've been spending every waking moment scouring the streets for him, but you can't do much if you're dead on your feet."

"Didn't you hear, Momo?" Shouto swallows around a lump in his throat. "They've called the search off. Life is going to resume its course without him."

"I know. That's why I called." Yaoyorozu clears her throat. "Just stay put. I'll be there in half an hour."

The phone call ends. Shouto discards his phone on the ground, scans over his dim apartment.

It seems too large, yet cramped at the same time, and he could start a mushroom farm in it for all the light it has seen these last months. He lurches to his feet and pulls open the curtains, allowing moonlight to wash in. He fumbles with the lock and throws open the window, inhaling the cold night air. It washes over his face, cleansing him, sweeping out the stale odour of unwashed laundry.

Without much vigour, Shouto flounders around the apartment like a fish out of water, trashing rubbish, tossing clothes into a basket and chucking crusty plates and cutlery into soapy water. He may have tripped over his own feet every few steps, accidentally frozen the sink over and set fire to the kettle on two separate occasions, but it was worth the clean-up. It resembles decent living quarters again. Yaoyorozu has to give him that much, now.

She still hasn't arrived by the time he has finished. With little more to do than mope, Shouto reaches for the door to the second bedroom, his fingers hesitating over the handle. It's empty and it makes so much sense to store the clutter from the rest of the apartment in here, but he doesn't dare.

One day, this room may need to serve a purpose again.

Shouto drops his hand from the doorknob and turns away, his head filled with cobwebs and clouds.

When Yaoyorozu arrives five minutes later, Shouto manages to get to the door before promptly careening with it with a loud crash. He winces and opens up to reveal Yaoyorozu's vaguely unimpressed face.

"You reek of alcohol," she says by way of greeting, thrusting a white plastic bag into his hands. "I brought you food. Can I trust you to deal with this without dropping it out the window or something?"

"You should have more faith in me." Shouto accepts the food and kicks a pair of slippers out from behind the door for her to put on. "I'm not that drunk."

Yaoyorozu hangs up her coat and removes her shoes while Shouto settles at the table, rummaging through the bag. "Oh, you definitely are. You certainly don't talk like you are, but I can smell it on you and your collision with the door is telling. I never thought that this would be the way I'd see you drunk for the first time. I'd been hoping that I could enjoy it, but as the circumstances are…"

Shouto hums when he finds a container of cold soba in the plastic bag. He murmurs, "Thanks for the meal," before digging in.

Yaoyorozu potters around the kitchen, raising her eyebrows at the scorch marks on the wall behind the kettle and unearthing a tin of dried tea leaves in a drawer. Soon, she is settled across the table from Shouto, the apartment filled with the homely smell of tea and good food.

They don't speak for a long time, Yaoyorozu is content to sit quietly and observe him. Only when the last of the soba noodles have been consumed does she open her mouth again. "What are you going to do?" she asks.

Shouto shrugs, downs a cup of tea in one mouthful. "I don't know. What am I meant to do?"

Yaoyorozu sighs heavily. "Your best friend's gone. It's got to be hardest for you. We're all keeping an eye on the others after that police announcement today. Asui's with Uraraka, Kirishima's with Bakugo, even Shinso's on board, keeping an eye on Iida."

"And you've been lumped with me. So, I'm your charity case?"

"Blunt as always, Shouto. But since when have you ever been my charity case? I thought that we'd surpassed this stage years ago."

Shouto huffs and they stare at each other across the table. "Fine, I'll play along. If you were in my position, what would you do?"

Yaoyorozu hesitates, her dark eyes flicking away for a split second. "If you need somebody impartial to talk to while you transition back into your daily life again, I can recommend plenty of–"

Shouto holds up a hand to silence her. He doesn't need to hear this. "Please, Momo. Don't treat me like the grieving widower or whatnot. You only grieve when they're dead, and Midoriya's not dead. I would know if he was." He turns his gaze out the open window, into the wide, inky-black sky.

 _A sign. A star blinking out, the sun or moon imploding, anything. Give me a sign._

But he does not see a star blink out, neither sun nor moon implode.

Anything would be better than this agitated silence which has settled itself over the city. There has not even been a whisper of movement from any villain since Midoriya disappeared, it's as though everyone in Musutafu is holding its breath. Waiting. For what?

Yaoyorozu gives Shouto a pointed look. "Just don't forget that there are people who care about you. Don't do anything reckless."

"Like what?" Shouto scoffs, leans his elbow against the tabletop and cups his chin in his hand. "Jump off a bridge to join Midoriya? I've told you already. He's not dead."

Yaoyorozu's eyes look suspiciously shinyin that moment. "Everything will work out," she says, more to herself than anything. "You'll see."

* * *

Life continues. As painful as it is to continue living without Midoriya at his side, friend, advisor and pillar, life does continue.

Nobody can forget him. That bright, green-eyed boy will be emblazoned on their hearts forever. But gradually, they move on.

Shouto watches as Iida is promoted from sidekick to hero in Team Idaten, following his retired brother's footsteps after all. He watches as Asui leaves Musutafu and takes up residence in one of the major flood regions of Japan. He watches as Ashido, Sero and Kaminari set up a joint agency, Tokoyami, Ojiro, Aoyama and Shoji leave the country, and Sato begins part time work at a bakery.

It hurts to see them all carry on so readily. Shouto takes it upon himself to hang on to Midoriya, hard enough for all of them combined. Yaoyorozu dutifully tries to lessen the weight on his shoulders, sending him on missions that come her way to keep his mind occupied. She tells him that she has a lot on her plate so his help is greatly appreciated, but Shouto sees through the white lie. She needs these jobs as much as him, she's just being selfless to a fault.

Hagakure takes it upon herself to relay all the gossip to Shouto whenever they cross paths, and Shouto learns about Uraraka and Bakugo's first and only disastrous date, about Mineta's brief visit to prison due to finally being caught as a peeping tom. Kaminari took pity on him and bailed him out after a couple of days. Hagakure relays that Koda has gotten himself a girlfriend, and another month later that Bakugo and Kirishima are officially an item. Yaoyorozu and Jirou also begin dating, and for the first time, Shouto wonders whether he is lonely.

They all make sure to include him in their activities, but he declines their invitations half the time. It feels as though he is trapped in another dimension in time, forever doomed to chase after the fast-fading image of Izuku Midoriya.

Another year has passed by without Shouto even realising it. Midoriya's old footsteps no longer linger on the streets, the memory of his voice echoing down corridors has melted into a shadow.

Shouto can no longer quite recall the exact shade of Midoriya's irises, can't remember the sound of tinkling laughter. No matter how hard he grasps at those strings fluttering around corners and disappearing around bends, Shouto knows that he is losing them. It won't be long before Midoriya is little more than a story.

* * *

It is on a muggy day that the silence over Musutafu lifts, and Shouto can once again properly breathe, sucking in deep breaths that fill his lungs to the brim.

But with the lift comes the Witness.

It had been a quiet day in the office. Shouto works alone, but the Todoroki name and his slow-blossoming reputation draws in enough clients to get by. It's while he is preparing to close up shop that Yaoyorozu bursts in.

Date night gone wrong, Shouto supposes, if the make-up and long gossamer dress, accompanied by an expression of sheer alarm, are anything to go by.

"I'm just about to leave," he begins, checking the time and moving the stand up from behind his desk. How is it already ten o'clock? Did he really spend four hours filing paperwork–

"No!" Yaoyorozu pushes him back into his chair and fumbles to get her phone out of her purse. "This broadcasted live just a few minutes ago. I ran to get here."

"How far did you run?" asks Shouto, his eyes flickering to the trainers on her feet which do not match the rest of her getup. She notices the look and blushes.

"Kyoka and I were having dinner just down the street from here," she says, her thumbs tapping away on her phone, "but in no world would I run in heels. These were the best I could create on short notice."

Noticing the lack of a second presence, Shouto raises his eyebrows. "Where is she, anyway?"

Right on cue, 'she' slams open the door and leans on it, gasping for air.

"Jesus, babe," Jirou pants, peeling off her blazer and letting it crumple in a heap on the floor. "Gimme a little warning next time you plan on racin' off like that!"

"Sorry," says Yaoyorozu, barely glancing up from her phone. Her eyes light up when she finds what she was looking for and she shoves it into Shouto's hands. "There, watch this. It's a replay of the live broadcast. I do believe that this may _pique_ your interest."

"So that's what this is about," murmurs Jirou, stepping forwards to lean into Yaoyorozu's side, her gaze lingering on Shouto curiously.

He cradles his friend's phone in a hand, not pressing play on the video that she has opened for him. He can't take this anymore. "I appreciate your effort, Momo," Shouto says slowly, not entirely sure how to proceed, "but I can't keep accepting missions from you. You need to take your own career into account, too–"

"Oh, shush with you." Yaoyorozu smiles slightly, both fond and sad folded into one. "I think that ninety percent of heroes are going to want to be chasing this troublemaker, yourself included. Watch the video, Shouto, you're just wasting time now."

His interest is indeed piqued. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Shouto presses the play button and watches the events unfold.

At first it's a standard evening news report, covering the weather forecast for the next week. Then the screen glitches and the weatherman crackles black-and-white before there is nothing but a wall of sputtering grey pixels. Shouto lifts his gaze to meet first Jirou's, then Yaoyorozu's.

"Keep watching," is all the comment he receives.

He obliges.

Another few seconds of glitching occurs, and then a figure reclining in an armchair flashes briefly into view. Shouto blinks, sure that he made a mistake in what he saw, and then the image is back permanently.

The man is in a black room, his legs crossed primly, one over the other. He is dressed in tailored black pants, a fitted waistcoat and a crimson red tie which is knotted at his throat. Dark curls have been tamed to flop stylishly across his face, which is hidden behind a plain metal mask.

"Greetings, citizens of Musutafu," says the masked man, his voice distorted. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening, but I thought it would be more impolite of me to take up work in your city without first introducing myself."

There is a pregnant pause in which the man tilts his head to the side like an inquisitive bird, lacing his fingers together on his lap. "I am the Witness," he says, and the deep, distorted cords of his voice sends a shiver up Shouto's spine. "I bear you no ill will, but be warned that hypocrites and frauds will not live long during my time here. Tread carefully, my friends, for I have eyes everywhere and am in cooperation with a wide network of…" there is a split second of hesitation. "Like-minded people."

The Witness leans forward in his seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, a thoughtful little gesture. It occurs to Shouto, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this man is not entirely unpleasant to look at – and there is something vaguely familiar about his mannerisms.

"Rest assured that you shall not be hearing from me again," continues the Witness, a hint of a smile in his voice, "However, for those who take my words of caution lightly, I will prove my legitimacy through one act of kindness. I condemn one of your very own pro heroes to death for his acts of hypocrisy. His body will be found in the middle of the city in fifteen minutes' time. Please identify the exact location in your own time. I thank you for your attention, my friends, and I remind you that you are safe so long as you behave accordingly."

The smile in his voice is obvious now.

Oh, he is a wicked, mischievous creature, Shouto knows.

The Witness flickers out of view, and the news channel's studio comes back into view in a state of disarray.

The video ends.

Shouto all but launches the phone back at Yaoyorozu. "Well, why are we still here?" He rushes for his jacket hanging on a hook on the wall. "We'd better find out whether he's as legitimate as he claims he is."

"Chill, man," says Jirou, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "From where we are, we'd never get into the middle of the city in time. Besides, has it slipped your mind that you just watched a replay? That was live about ten minutes ago."

Yaoyorozu checks the time. "Sixteen minutes, to be specific."

She has barely finished speaking when her phone begins ringing, followed by Shouto's and then Jirou's, almost in unison.

Shouto digs through his pockets and recognizes the number as belonging to the police. With horror sinking like a stone in his stomach, Shouto answers at the same time as his two companions.

"Shouto Todoroki speaking."

"Mr. Todoroki, this is the Musutafu Police calling," drones a man's tired voice. "We are summoning pro heroes to a crime scene which is of significance to our city's long-term safety."

"Crime scene?" Shouto prompts, waiting for his suspicions to be confirmed.

"Surely you've heard, Mr. Todoroki, of the appearance of a new villain, the Witness, at 21:47 local time? The body of hero Sand Storm was located in an alleyway across from the public library tonight at 22:03. Are you available for immediate consultation?"

Shouto glances across the room at Yaoyorozu. There is a hard light in her eyes and he knows that she is hearing what he is.

"I can be there in twenty minutes," he says, hanging up and waiting for the others to do the same.

"Fuckin' mental," says Jirou, grimacing, turning her face up to Yaoyorozu's. "The Witness, I mean. We'd better capture him quickly, make him answer for interrupting our date."

"Mm, excellent idea," agrees Yaoyorozu, dipping her head to press a kiss to Jirou's mouth.

"Save that for later." Shouto finishes tugging his jacket on and props open the door for them to exit the office before him. "Your next date is with the corpse of Sand Storm."

"Hope it's not too mangled," mourns Jirou, threading her fingers through Yaoyorozu's and tugging her out the door. Shouto switches off the lights and slides the key into the lock.

 _Midoriya_ , he thinks. _If you were here, you'd be sprinting down the street already._

"Hurry up, Todoroki!" he would be shouting, his own jacket not even on his shoulders properly yet. "Early bird catches the worm! Or the Witness, in this case! Both 'w' words, what's the difference?"

With a smile quirking the corner of his mouth, Shouto slams the door shut and strides onto the street to follow the dwindling vision of Midoriya, streaking through the night.

* * *

 **PART ONE goes through several time skips, but the next two parts should be longer and anchored to the present moment better if it's getting on your nerves at all. That is, if any of you are interested in a continuation. Let me know if you are!**


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